Under Fire
by Commissar Waffles
Summary: A single variable is all it takes. One minuscule thing. That is all it takes to ruin the villain's plan and effectively save lives. Fireteam Firefly is one of those added variables, along the most other crewmen of the VN-9F Toronto. They will be the ones to turn the tides of war on Remant. (STORY HAS BEEN CANCELLED AS OF 7/10/19. PM FOR MORE DETAILS.)
1. Chapter 1

The cold air pierced the layered suit of black nano-composite fibre based armour on the stranger's body, like needles against their skin. Their leather cloak was tightly stretched across narrow shoulders, down to where it ended in tears at their elbows and waist. From there and downward, it did naught to cover up the titanium-composite, chameleon-skin plating that clung to her insulated bodysuit, the chameleon-skin design long failed in place for frosted over arctic camouflage marking. Snow flurried onto the white hood and large, ceramic-plated and tarped backpack on the large of their back. The stranger's metallic-mesh boots crunched against both fresh snow from the storm that raged around them, and the packed, hard almost ice material from prior storms, leaving deep imprints in the three-quarters of a meter snow. The helmet contained within the cloak bore a wide, trapezoid-shaped visor, spanning from across the temples, and down to the lower face, made of layered nanolaminate alloys and various composite metals. Along the left breastplate, the phrase " _honor virtutis praemium_ " was engraved, into the breastplate. A quiet noise of two meaty creatures slapping against each other would sound out, the small game in the form of rabbits and squirrels that hung from their backpack swishing around with the movement of their body. The forest around the stranger was almost silent, as if in a way, it feared this human.

The stranger in full body armour was accompanied by an American Foxhound. A taller thing, just tall enough to trudge through the snow, with a thick white coat of fur, brown eyes and a clipped left ear. A set of bags hung along a K9 Harness on its body. The four small headlamps mounted along the stranger's temples was the only thing illuminating the path ahead, in a dull almost yellow glow. The trees around them towered above by dozens of feet, thickly strung together to the point of obscuring the moon's dull glow. Navigating these woods was impossible without having scouted out detailed trails earlier in the year when it was brighter, warmer and sunnier. Warmer just meant above -3 degrees Fahrenheit. Average temperature for these woods in the summer was roughly 23 degrees Fahrenheit, and during the winters it could be anywhere from -3 to -30.

That was not to say surviving was impossible, as our Stranger, we'll call her Jane Doe, has lived here for twelve years, only leaving in the early spring to trade with the Atlesians to the far West, more toward the Coast of Solitas.

Jane had missed her one opportunity to leave for the city of Atlas and was forced to stock up and have her caravan travel behind her. Were it not for the metal beast she called an M13 Armoured Personnel Carrier, her caravan of three may not have made it for even a month. That warthog, along with the saving grace that it ran on H2O, kept them alive during the harsh winters of the Infinite Forest, a giant forest that spanned nearly a tenth of Solitas, along the inner continent, close enough to Atlas for a journey that lasted roughly half a week, and that was if the weather was behaving. As Jane trudges through the snow, an M12 loaded with equipment toting a heated trailer carrying sensitive gear.

At any point after they left the forest, they'd be fresh meat for bandits, were it not for Jane's training and weaponry. As it seemed, bandits weren't very content with being shot by Hollow-Point/Armour-Piercing 7.62x51mm, 12.7x40mm or 14.5x114mm cartridges.

The inside of Jane's helmet was padded with black foam made of various materials, one of which being Kevlar. Along the visor that covered her entire view, was a radar in the lower left corner, beside it several blank circles beside it-the list of allied units based on an Identify-Friend-or-Foe tag system that was not yet existent. Along the forehead area was her shield bar, currently offline, tinted red rather than baby blue, a hollow rectangular bar that warped along into an almost semi-circle like curve due to her head not being flat. By the upper left was her SRS99-D. Below it, an MA37 Assault Rifle, and beside that, on the upper right, were two M6D Magnum Pistols. A weapon that looked like an overly futuristic looking machete covered in plating and other strange devices-mostly things such as a small brick of metal where a bullet might've been able to be loaded in, a line of padding across the dull flat side of the blade, similar to a rifle grip, a barrel poking out of the hilt-connected was under the pistols. Her magazine counter for her rifle was just below the schematic-like image of the sniper rifle, above the assault rifle's image, with a series of tabs on the lower right, one a single line that represented the VDF-Comms Channel, another that represented the Atlesian Comms, a poor signal led to bountiful amounts of static plaguing the channel. The VDF-Comms channel was simply silent. Not a single voice, not a single decibel of static, only an eerie silence.

"... This is Sergeant Arthur Debraux, requesting Atlesian support-" the Atlesian Radio Channel suddenly burst with activity, various bands emitting a distress signal.

"That's... six kilometers, Northeast. Just inside the forest." Jane mused. She activated her external speakers, listening for noise.

Jane was graced by the sound of gunfire, rapid, almost fully auto. Screams, roars. She activated her internal speakers. Her caravan team was about a hundred meters behind. She stopped, spun on a heel and waited as the dull rumble of a 'Hog engine got louder and louder, until the hood of the 'Hog came into view. The broad hood, accented by reinforced corrugated plates, the cracked headlamps, and eventually the window baring vent-like barriers along the front windshield. A large, almost trailer home like trailer/carriage rolled behind it, light beams pierced the light snow that fell from the heavens through slitted windows. The din of classical music via an old-fashioned gramophone like device created by their egghead was muffled, however still leaked from the inside of the 'cab' of the carriage. The whole trailer itself was larger than the M12, which itself spanned ten feet across, and twenty feet long. The trailer was roughly double the length, so maybe forty, forty-one feet. Wider, about twenty, twenty-one feet wide. However, more lightweight materials allowed the M12 to drag it along.

Jane trudged over to the warthog. It had been modified, with an armoured cab and rear bed-carriage, long, lithe lamps with three legs folded up against the body were strapped along the body by webbing and Velcro strips. Heaters, unused. The caravaners that Jane was with made them out of scrap glass and circuitry they find. Lots of scrap if you knew where to look. Atlesian Military dumping grounds for trashed projects, junk from their factories, including: bugged, warped or damaged in any way. Occasionally, they'd find a crashed Bullhead. Bandits would get cocky and use an RPG or Surface-To-Air Missile Launcher, often destroying an Atlesian Gunship Bullhead and leaving the scrap due to the maze-like structure of the forest.

Jane opened the driver-side door and was met with a woman, a petite thirty-year-old Faunus, two fox-like ears poking out from her head, splayed to the sides by a ball cap. A set of kneepads and elbow pads, along with a gray scale-type layered ballistic vest, hidden by a white duster. Jeans dotted with patches and holes took place on her lower frame.

"Jane, what's the hold up?" The Faunus asked. She was Jane's left hand, a mechanic who could keep up with her own crazy head. Not a small feat when you have the knowledge of half a century of equipment schematics and history in your Neural Implant.

"We're diverting course, Atlesian Military under attack, six K-M, Northeast." Jane relayed to her. To say the Faunus was mad would be an understatement.

"What the fuck, Jane? We don't have the time or supplies to stray off course!" She roared. Jane grunted in response.

"I'll worry about that. You worry about getting us six kilometers, Nevada-Echo." Jane closed the door and began trudging toward the gunfire. Her dog, Cole, bounded through the snow, on her heels. The 'Hog's damaged headlights flickered on, and it began to push forward, past Jane. She stayed close behind, using the depression in the snow created by the 'Hog to allow Cole to move quicker.

After a few kilometers and a half hour of jogging, the gunfire seemed to be on top of them. The snow was painted red, corpses of Atlesian grunts splayed across the floor, frozen creatures of Grimm (primarily Beowolves and Creeps.) among the dead, husks filled with the black smoke that made up the fowl beasts, unable to return to their master.

Jane slowed her pace, the 'Hog parked up ahead. She trudged over to the driver side door.

"What's the hold up?" Jane called to the Faunus girl, Autumn, whom drove the vehicle.

"This is as far as we go! There's Bullhead husks and giant frozen chunks of only half-dead Grimm creating a blockade!" Autumn called back. Jane hit the door twice to give her a clear Affirmitive, and lowered herself close to the ground, inching forward. She drew her MA37 Assault Rifle, scanning her surroundings with her VISR.

The rifle was covered in bulbous armour plates, to protect the interior, contrast to the standard design. The plates were coated with a hexagonal texture, eerily similar to Covenant tech, albeit with a dark gray colour, and various bits of wires and holes dotting the body. The magazine loaded had an orange band taped along the end, marking it as an Incendiary, and thanks to the help of their Techie, an ex Atlesian Army Corps Engineer named Bennie, Jane's rifle was made compatible with both Dust-based munitions and gunpowder-based. It had the standard stock, albeit lined with extra padding, an extended barrel covered in venting holes along the far end, and a smooth iron sight system, an ammunition counter poking out of the left side, toward the back by her, its holographic display cracked, flickering with the number 32.

The next hour of walking was quiet. APCs, Bullheads and corpses littered the ground, with many more frozen husks lying about, a constant, eerie rattling reverberating off of them. A scream grabbed her attention, followed by the body of a grunt being flung past her at high speeds, slamming against a tree with a loud SNAP. Jane twisted to the direction of the attack and kept silent. The natural camouflage of her gear and being low to the ground reduced her visibility. A woman dressed in a heavy winter coat, baring rectangular plates that pushed out of the coat slightly, some sort of padding, white pants lined with light armour plating, garters added to the outfit. Black gloves rested along her hands, some sort of saber in her right hand, a lightweight, small calibre autopistol in her left. She seemed to dodge and leap back frequently, small projectiles from Grimm whizzing past. A beringal came tearing through the tree line of the clearing of where the mystery soldier stood, enraged. Jane switched out her MA37-C, replacing it with her sniper rifle. Using the smartlink scope, Jane zoomed in close, watching the battle whilst waiting for a good shot. The woman was masked, a pair of goggles along with some sort of scarf-like mouth cover hiding her face entirely.

Jane eased her finger around the trigger of her SRS99-D, ready to fire. Jane hit the Beringal directly in its spine, right below the skull. It fell like a sack of potatoes, gushing the black mist. Sadly, for Jane, her work wasn't done. An enemy approaching quick from her right flank (indicated by a large red dot on her motion tracker) caused her to jump up and take aim at the new hostile.

A Death Stalker was plowing through debris and snow toward her. Its massive stinger lashed out at her, and Jane swiftly rolled to the left, firing two rounds into the stinger as it got stuck in the ground momentarily, backing up and readying another magazine in her left hand. The stinger became dented and damaged, seeping ooze. Jane jogged backwards, firing the last round of her SRS. She clicked the mag release, slapping in a fresh one before tossing it on her back in exchange for her MA37-C. The Death Stalker's thick bony armour withstood the 14.5x114mm round, the shot however dug deep, creating a caved in spot by its eye socket, causing it to roar with anger.

Jane knelt down and began firing in controlled bursts at the hulking scorpion. The rounds dug deep into the bone armour and dug deeper into flesh. The monstrous Grimm snarled and sent its stinger down toward her position. Jane dropped an M9 Fragmentation Grenade and rolled to the left, using her suit thrusters to assist her movement. Just as she predicted, the Death Stalker's tail plunged into the floor, causing the grenade to detonate in a burst of disgusting goop from the stinger.

The enraged Grimm screamed and thrashed its severed tail about, blood leaking out from the wound in a way similar to a fountain. Jane took the moment to reload her assault rifle, place it on her back and get her SRS99-D into her open arms.

The woman from before decided to rear her head, and leapt onto the scorpion Grimm, driving her sabre into one of its remaining eyes. Jane's originally simple shot became difficult as the Death Stalker thrashed around in attempts throw the woman off, being successful in this task.

Difficult did not mean impossible, and a single shot rang out. The 14.5x114mm HE/HP sniper round cruised through the air and burrowed past the eye of the Grimm and exploded within its cranium. The beast gave out a dying squeal, before slumping down, its body turning to mist.

Jane slung her rifle over one shoulder and merely observed the battlefield. Snow continued to fall upon the icy layers of soil, bodies remained still, and all seemed, in a disturbed sort of way... peaceful.

The feeling was only momentarily. A yellow blip on her radar approached her rear, slowly. She spun on her heel and drew an M6D. The woman stood upright, her sabre drawn, shoulders back.

"What do you want?" Jane asked, raising the volume on her internal speakers so she was louder via neural interface.

"By the Kingdom of Atlas, you're hereby under arrest for possession of stolen military-" The woman didn't finish, as Jane simply turned around and began to walk toward the forest. She'd lose the chick before heading back to the Caravan.

The rapidly approaching yellow dot slowly shaded darker and became red. Jane merely stopped. The woman went to hit the hilt against her helmet. Jane spun around and ducked within the time frame of a second, her armour's thrusters allowing her to backtrack quickly.

"Ma'am, I'm going to tell you once, and once only, to back off." Jane shouted. The woman, merely stunned from the speed of the ARGUS-toting VDF trooper, recoiled for a moment. She shook her head and took up a combat stance.

"Wrong choice." Jane growled as she muted her internals, keeping her external speakers turned up. Jane drew the plated machete from her hip, taking up a half-relaxed stance. Seconds became minutes, and minutes turned into hours. Or, at least, it felt like that.

The woman charged forward and went for a stab to Jane's abdomen. Jane countered by blocking the strike with her own weapon, causing the woman to recoil back. Jane's left forearm guard extended, a small barrel poking out below her inner wrist. She threw a left hook, with a concussive blast releasing from her wrist, and the enemy combatant was sent staggering backwards. Jane spun her blade into a downward grip and charged forward. The woman recovered, dodging a slash from Jane and countering with one of her own. The woman's sabre blade scraped against the titanium-composite plates on Jane's back harmlessly. Jane spun around and threw out a vicious right hook. The woman ducked under and delivered a slash from a smaller blade, scraping against the under-arm bodysuit and composite plating with a loud Screeeech. Jane delivered a set of jabs to the woman's face, followed by a knee-high kick to the chest that knocked the air out of her, and sent her onto her back. The woman grunted and launched herself up, unholstering a small electricity dust-charged Atlesian Army standard-issue M2 Sidearm and fired a volley of rounds at Jane.

Her shields took the brunt, a warning of their near collapse in the form of an annoyingly loud alarm and a red tint to her peripheral vision. Jane unsheathed a set of three throwing knives from her right-side leather casing, throwing each one with deadly precision. Her opponent shared this same precision and rolled to the left. A single knife embedded into her calf, and she cried out, before aiming the M2 at Jane, rapidly pulling the trigger, only to hear a soft negatory 'bleep' and a click. Jane rushed forward, kicking the pistol out of her hand and planting a solid boot onto her chest.

Jane reached into the bag on the rear of her hip, removing a pair of thick, white metal bands that went on the wrists. She snapped them onto the woman's arms, and an energy current flowed in the gap between the bands. Jane pulled the unidentified woman to her feet and keyed her Comms, muting her internal speakers.

"Raven-Actual, this is Raven Zero-One. Move on my location, over?" Jane called out. A green flash in the corner of her visor told her that she was heard. Jane unmuted her internal speakers and decided to interrogate.

"Your name and rank. I want them, now." Jane requested. The woman kept silent for a few moments.

"Winter Schnee, Atlesian Special Reconnaissance Division, Huntress." 'Winter' replied harshly.

"What is an SRD Huntress and a Platoon's worth of grunts doing out by the Infinite Forest?" Jane questioned.

"That's classified." Winter snarked. Jane chuckled.

"I'm asking politely, Schnee. I want an answer, before I start getting impolite." Jane prodded her back with her pistol. The threat didn't mean much to Winter, that was obvious. However, the gun did help persuade.

"We were following a lead on some sort of huntsman or huntress in plate-mail armour with enough skill to take down two veteran huntsmen with their hands tied behind their back. I'm assuming that's you?" Winter answered. Jane snorted.

"I ain't damned a Huntress." Jane quelled the curiosity, and Winter scoffed at her answer.

"Only Huntsmen and Huntresses are that skilled with combat. You're either lying, or-" the roar of the M13 Engine stopped Winter mid-sentence as the M13 toting the camper-styled trailer rolled up. Jane popped open the trailer and tossed Winter in, and one of the crew tossed her a tarp covered in frills and such, designed as a manual camouflage.

Jane attached it to hooks along the trailer's roof and took her place in the passenger seat of the M13.

"So, who is she?" Autumn asked as Cole jumped into Jane's lap from the rear compartment of the cab.

"SRD Huntress. I think she was looking for us." Jane explained the story to Autumn as their vehicle plowed through the snow.

"Well, I mean, you're a sight for sore eyes, with that armour, and the training." Autumn chuckled, taking a long right, the trees thinning out as they began to move onto solid concrete road. The occasional lamppost sent a few beams of light into the cab.

"Could be... Or, Atlas has decided to hunt my people down. I'm hoping that's not the case, or else I'm going to have to break out my executioner's hood and camcorder and go nuts." Jane attempted to joke, pushing Cole into the back so she could begin to inspect her SRS.

"Next stop, Atlas…"


	2. Chapter 2

Long Ago

 _Captain January jogged through the hellscape that surrounded him. Massive, hulking griphonic-beasts of darkness swarmed the skies, knocking Bullheads and Warships from their places, killing many in the process. Flames engulfed many of the stone-brick complexes that lined the Campus of **Beacon Academy**. Bodies of students and civilians lay motionless on the cobblestone pathways, often in grotesque positioning indicating their deaths. His hands tightened their hold on his rifle, a simplistic-styled Bullpup-Carbine. It sported carbon-composite plating to cover the internals, a K2-Scope resting on the mount, with an angled grip along the end of the casing, with a fifty-centimeter barrel sporting a gas tube above it, a design inspired by the Kalashnikov-series of firearm. _

_His armour was thin along the legs, with plated-greaves sporting webbing-mounted pouches carrying pistol magazines on the left calf, and a leather case with a trio of throwing knives, and a KA-BAR-styled combat knife. Non-reflective, anti-flash titanium carbide coating, high carbon steel. The outer thighs were protected by plates that circled around, leaving the inner thighs exposed. A pistol harness sat upon the right thigh, and another on the left thigh, carrying a miniature, "sawed-off" XM-23 Lever-Action Shanikov M150 Shotgun, with shells lining the harness in belts that wrapped around his legs and the left side of his belt. His forearms were covered by thick vambraces, a hidden blade in the wrist of the right, and two barrels that poked out of the left wrist. A wrist-mounted TACPAD on the right vambrace, and a set of blades on the left, designed to hook oncoming bladed weapons. His left rerebrace began thin at the elbow, growing thicker along the top to accommodate for a large, angular pauldron that sported the shape of a half-cylinder. right was of equal thickness, leading up to a small, curved pauldron that was tightly hugging the shoulder, strong as the left pauldron, yet many times more flexible. His breastplate was basic, with a set of thin, long plates on his abdomen that stretched across his waist. A single, thirty-centimeter wide, fifteen-wide, and twenty-centimeter tall medical case sat on the rear part of his belt, with grenades, a karambit knife and several injections lining the belt. His helmet sported a sleek design, with dark tubes exposed through splits in plates, leading toward the front, where two circular, thin 'filters' on the cheeks, below a set of ovular-shaped 'goggles,' two cyan viewports that connected with the main, wide viewscreen built into the helmet. Two 'fins' ran from the tip of the jaw, where the tubes connected, to the base of the jaw. An open-mawed skull sporting a Stahlhelm was spray-painted onto the left temple._

 _'Alright, January… Gotta find that damned Faunus girl…' January thought to himself. His external speakers picked up the snippets of a conversation from a building up ahead, and he rushed forward silently, planting his right shoulder against the brick, raising his external speaker volume. The words that came from the mouth of the male he heard were like nails on a chalkboard, venomous, malignant._

 _"…But I understand because all I want is_ you _, Blake…" That voice made January grind his teeth. He spun the corner, taking a hunched position, sliding along the wall until he reached a shattered window. January knelt from a relatively hidden spot and observed._

 _The male was young, maybe mid-to-late twenties, wearing a white mask with red markings, red and brown hair, with bull-horns protruding from his skull. Adam Taurus, an ex-companion of his target. Wearing Long-sleeved, black trench coat with a wilting red rose over a white floral pattern on the back. A red-bladed sword was in his arms. He stood over a young woman, black hair, dressed in black buttoned jacket with coattails and a silver button, under that a sleeveless, high-necked crop undershirt, and white shorts with zippers along the front of the legs. Black, low heel boots, full stockings with a black and purple gradient. This was January's target, Blake Belladonna. He lined up his rifle's K2 reticle with Adam's temple, silently readying a finger on the trigger, when he heard another voice, a woman._

 _"Blake! Blake, where are you?!" His gaze turned to the window opposite him, where Blake's teammate, a young woman (January called her a bimbo, frequently) with fiery yellow hair, sporting yellow, metal… shotgun gauntlets. This was "Yang Xiao Long," Blake's teammate. He returned his attention to Taurus. January had missed something he'd said prior, distracted with his thoughts._

 _"… Starting with_ her _." Taurus growled. Blake looked utterly terrified, but not dead. That was good._

 _Suddenly, Taurus' blade was directed into Blake's abdomen, causing her to cry out._

 _'Shit.' January hurdled the window, switching his carbine out for his KA-BAR knife, when he was knocked to the side as Yang came leaping through the window. Taurus smirked, sheathing his blade as the (quite literally) fiery-haired blonde prepared to launch blows. January quickly pulled himself up. He was only able to watch in awe as Taurus' blade was unsheathed, and a loud **'SWOOSH** ' was heard. Yang went flying… Her lower right arm separated from her body._

 _"You son-of-a- **bitch**!" January launched himself forward, swiping at Taurus with his knife, only to have the move blocked. January's cannons in his vambrace made themselves apparent, firing two large concussive blasts into Taurus, causing him to stagger and reel back. January took the opportunity, tackling Taurus to the floor. Taurus' sword was sent sliding across the ground, far out of reach, January's knife sitting conveniently nearby. January landed a few blows before Taurus retaliated by throwing January off with a strength that he had not seen coming. _

_January used his armour's built in thrusters to plunge himself back to the ground before he was able to become stunned himself. January was barely able to get his bearings before Taurus came at him with blows from his fists and January's knife._

 _January blocked or dodged most hits, countering with those of his own. Kicks, punches and jabs, each with enough strength to knock an average person out cold. Taurus threw a kick that hit January's temple, causing him to stagger back and grunt from pain._

 _Taurus launched himself forward, plunging the knife toward January's throat with a roar. January grabbed his wrist, redirecting his entire body in a different direction, snagging the knife by the blade. He used his other hand to grab Taurus by the neck, stunning the White Fang leader as he gasped for air. January flipped the knife's handle into his hand, and plunged the blade into Taurus' mask, causing the entire left eye section to shatter as the blade made itself at home in Adam's eye socket for a few moments. Adam was only able to scream and flail, before the knife was ruthlessly torn out. Taurus spun a bit, his aura flickering. January reeled his left arm back, the cannons loaded up with a second shot, and plunged his fist into the side of Taurus' head, knocking him to the floor._

 _January spat blood, causing it to splatter the insides of his visor._

 _"Prick." January flicked the blood off his KA-BAR and sheathed it, taking a moment to breathe._

 _"Yang!" His attention was drawn toward Blake rushing toward her fallen teammate, stumbling and falling onto her side, coughing. January took not another second, rushing over with a syringe, ready to deal with Yang first. The yellow-haired girl was bleeding bad, spurting blood at a terrifying rate. January swore, and injected the syringe into her neck, depressing the plunger. Once empty, it was tossed aside. January got up and planted his gauntlet against one of the fires for a few seconds, rushing over and planting it into the injured girl's stump. She was unconscious, however still shook and struggled as her wound cauterized. He used a roll of gauze from his pouch to wrap the wound, before turning to Blake._

 _Her wound could be treated easily. He slowly approached Blake, her eyes full of fear, and rage. He removed a canister of Bio-Medical Sealant-Foam from his pouch._

 _"Hold still." He said softly, kneeling beside Blake. She hesitantly backed away a bit, before allowing January to insert the canister's injector tip into her wound. He pulled the plunger, and Blake hissed as a mint-coloured, quick-hardening material filled up her wound._

 _"This will keep your guts in until we get you looked at by an actual Doc." January bandaged her abdominal wound._

 _"Why… Why are you helping us?" Blake asked as January helped her up onto her feet. He knelt back down and scooped her comrade into a fireman's carry before answering._

 _"Let's just call me a Guardian Angel, nice and simple." January was about to start leaving, when he noticed Blake staring at the downed Taurus. He hesitated for a while, before giving her what she needed to hear._

 _"He's not dead, but he'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up." His answer calmed Blake enough._

 _"… Over here! I heard screaming!" The uninvited voices kick-started January and Blake._

 _"Follow me, there are a lot of Huntsmen and Huntresses at the dock." Blake stumbled along, January in tow. He had in his right hand an M24911, a renovated, refurbished and modernized version of the classic M1911 Firearm, loaded with a full magazine of 12.7x40mm M239 HE/AP Magnum rounds. It sported a Red-Dot styled rail mounted sight, a laser-guidance under-barrel mount, and a suppressor._

 _"I… I have so many questions." Blake said as they traversed the hell-scape that was Beacon Academy, post-fall._

 _"I'll answer what I can when we're in the clear." January grunted, readjusting his grip on the unconscious unarmed, injured yellow-haired girl. Blake stopped directly in front of him, staring up at him from her five-foot-six height, up to his seven-foot-four towering height._

 _"Let's start with, 'who are you'?" Blake asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. January grumbled._

 _"This isn't the time for this…" He grunted._

 _"Bullshit, it isn't. Tell me who you are." Blake retaliated._

 _"Fine… You can just call me January for now. Come on, lead us to the finish, I can sense all sorts of baddies inbound." January's response caused Blake to narrow her eyes further accusingly, before continuing onward…_

 **A Few Months Later, Present Day.**

January basked in the smell of the ocean as he leaned against the railing of the large civilian cruiser. His helmet was clipped to his belt, allowing his short, curly silver hair and pale, scarred face to show. A pair of aviator sunglasses sat upon the bridge of his nose, simple gray frames with dark glass. A light gray digital camouflage military cap sat upon his head, assisting the shades in shielding his eyes from the harsh rays of the sun.

The subtle sound of boots against wood alerted January from his musings, and he turned to see Blake walking over. She wore a bulky service jacket that he'd loaned her, a pair of combat boots and cargo pants, with a set of belts hanging from her waist, one of which carrying her trademark weapon, Gambol Shroud. She carried a small paper bag in one hand, with a lighter in the other.

January took both items, removing what appeared to be a cigarette from the bag, placing it to his lips and lighting it, a wispy, relieved sigh escaping him.

"Since I've gotten you everything that you want and need, how about you answer my questions, finally?" Blake crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes accusingly. January simply rolled his.

"Ask away." He replied, taking a puff from the cigarette. Blake let out a relieved breath and imitated his positioning.

"What… Who do you work for?" She asked. The civilian boat lurched as it released from Vale's docks, and slowly pushed off toward the open ocean.

"We call ourselves the 'Vanguard Defense Force.' I belong to the 497th Marine Expeditionary Unit, Firefly Company. I commanded a squad of five—Firefly-One." January's response got a gentle hum from Blake.

"Why are you… protecting me? I can fend for myself." Blake asked. January took another puff from his cigarette, shaking his head softly.

"I dunno, to be frank with you. Something fishy is going on, and I think someone very nasty—and very connected—wants you dead. You're alone—per your own childish reasoning—and would likely still be alone, if I hadn't tracked you down." January was nearly finished with his cigarette, dropping it into a nearby rubbish bin. Blake furrowed her brow.

"You said you commanded a squad, right?" Blake asked, getting a simple nod from January. "So… where are they?" Blake turned to look at January.

"Got separated upon orbital entry… Hell if I know how long ago, I think it was during a meteor shower." January scratched the back of his neck. Blake seemed surprised.

"The last meteor shower was two years ago… You've been on Remnant for _two years_ , yet you haven't the slightest clue what Dust is, the four Kingdoms, Grimm?" She asked, almost accusingly. January shrugged passively.

"I was in the Wilds outside of the Kingdoms, living off my rations and whatever game I could kill." January answered, standing upright. He stretched, disheartened at the various pops and cracks he heard.

"Did it ever cross your mind to try and _find_ them?" Blake asked, her tone becoming increasingly aggressive with each sentence. January frowned.

"I spent the first four months trying to contact them. The four after that, I had to manually track them down using outdated tech that wasn't compatible with anything I could steal from those weird fuckin' ship things—" "—Bullheads—" "—and I had to then jury-rig or entirely reproduce my equipment because of Grimm... All I came up with was an empty pod, the signs of a **heavy** firefight, a damaged helmet and his 'tags." January reached into his inner-jacket pocket, pulling out a small airtight bag, with a red seal along the top, marked:

 **[** **/ CPL. STEINMAN /** **]**

Blake stared at the small sealed bag for a while before she spoke again. The bag's insides were stained with blood, a single pair of dog-tags resting at the bottom, scratched and bloodied.

"As far as I know, he was the only one who died. I buried the helmet and disposed of the pod." January put the bag back in its place and leaning with his back and elbows against the railing.

"I'm… I'm sorry." Blake eventually spoke up, a guilty expression taking up her features.

"Don't be, you couldn't have known… Besides, from the wounds on him, he went out fighting. The doors of Valhalla will be open to him." January took his cap off and leaned his head back. It wasn't exactly a lie—a large portion of Vanguard personnel (at least the ones that he knew) believed in Valhalla. It was a sort of tradition to them. If one was to go down fighting for what is right, and do so with honour, the doors of Valhalla will be open to them, and they shall be accepted with open arms. January's mind would often wander to whether or not he would be allowed entry to Valhalla. He had served four tours with the Vanguard (about twenty years) and fought in two of their wars. Maybe protecting this girl, Blake, would be the last lock to that door, and by completing that task, he'd be allowed to enter Valhalla. Who knows? The world is a crazy place, anything can happen.

Once January came back to his senses, he found that Blake was no longer in his presence. Didn't matter much to him, he decided. January lifted himself onto his feet, stretched his back out, then got to patrolling from bow to stern.


	3. An Explanation of Sorts

Yeah, I cancelled this project. It held potential, but my own incompetence with writing at the time prevented any momentum, so I've sorta moved on over the years. I figured that this story deserves at least an explanation, and a brief summary of what I figured the plot to be, merely a few bullet points.

*Small squad of soldiers from an advanced space-faring race of humans, lands on Remnant, including Summer Rose, resurrected by forces unknown into a new body halfway across the universe.

*Summer and her team begin making change on Remnant, essentially a dissection of what I felt (at the time) were either A) poor plot points or B) resolving conflicts before they could arise/as they rose, taking the needle precision of an elite unit of specialists utilizing advanced weaponry, tactics and a bit of (semi)intentional omniscience

*Summer meets up with her daughter and they do a bonding

*The end?

This story marked a point In time where I realized what was holding me back; a lack of planning and motivation, something I've worked to fix over the years with (many) failed projects over on the FiMFiction site with only one short story left and many drafted word docs on my laptop. At some point, I _may_ try to tackle this story again, better explaining itself and coming off as something more than just the fangirly babbles of some imbecile online.

On that note, the Vanguard organization mentioned in the story is a concept that I've had brewing for the past 5-6 years, starting from an idea to create a sub-organization of the UNSC from the Halo Franchise (an obsession of mine at the time), which slowly evolved into a semi-cohesive idea of an independent force of humans not quite parallel with the UNSC and its beliefs to create friction between humanity and thus _conflict and drama_ , however the idea would end up falling apart as my idea of the vanguard's ideology and such was constantly changing and was never written down in stone, leaving my stories often in a state of, "most of the information in this story is retconned/otherwise wrong at this point, why continue" which led to their eventual deletion and abandonment in the end.

Ultimately, with my new works and way of tackling writing stories and such, hopefully I can make up for my failures by completing a story.


End file.
